


There'll Be Peace

by sinfuldesire_archivist



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Drama, Established Relationship, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-04
Updated: 2011-07-04
Packaged: 2018-09-03 07:47:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8703742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinfuldesire_archivist/pseuds/sinfuldesire_archivist
Summary: The barrier in Sam's mind is crumbling and Dean does the only thing he can think of to help his brother.My ending to Supernatural.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the Sinful Desire archivists: this story was originally archived at [Sinful-Desire.org](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Sinful_Desire). To preserve the archive, we began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in November 2016. We e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [Sinful Desire collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/sinfuldesire/profile).
> 
>  **Author's notes:** Writing this broke my heart. Really. I don't even really like angst, I don't know what made me come up with this. Also, this is the first thing I've ever written for the Supernatural fandom. What a way to induct myself.
> 
> Also, I'd really appreciate any con crit. :)

_Bobby is frail with age and his eyes have become yellowed with cirrhosis. He lets his tears gather as he stands in the dusty cabin that looks like it hasn’t been lived in since maybe the early 70’s, aside from the recent signs of squatter’s rights like the empty beer bottles and some old pizza boxes. The only reason Bobby is here is because he knew in his gut, as soon as he got that call from Dean, that it was all going to be over soon. Dean had told him how much he and Sam appreciated him for all he’d done for them and how much they loved him for being the father that they never had to ask him to be._

Bobby was right. He was right about it being over and he’d gotten here too late to change that. Blood and brain matter covered the large ancient mattress in the middle of the cabin floor and the cracked and decaying walls. Bobby had foreseen this end long before he had gotten that goodbye call, though, as much as he had wanted to pretend otherwise.  
_________________  
The wall in Sam’s mind that Death had constructed was crumbling now. It was deteriorating more rapidly as time went on and was becoming visibly more and more unbearable for Sam and as much of an empath as Dean has always been regarding Sam, this was wearing and tearing on his soul as well.

He found an old cabin out deep in the woods. He’d gotten enough canned goods, water and beer to hold out for a few weeks. He couldn’t take Sam out in his condition and he wanted to leave him alone as little as possible. Dean wasn’t sure what he was going to do, God knows he’d been wrecking his brain trying to think of something, but he couldn’t watch Sam suffer like this. It just kept getting worse and worse.

Death had said the barrier might last as little as 7 years. Well, it had done them pretty good considering. They were pretty old to be hunters, especially hunters with as many bloodthirsty enemies as they had. Dean even had a few age spots at the base of his neck though their bodies were as shapely as ever, save for creaky knees that throbbed a little in the rain and fingers that grew a little stiff with research and weapon cleaning. With all the fighting they couldn’t help but do, their bellies never softened the way most do when in their fifties.

It was becoming all too apparent, as much as Dean wanted to deny that fact, that there was nothing that could help Sam. There was no angel, demon or healer in existence that could cure Sam’s mangled soul, save for God himself. Not even Dean could fix Sam anymore. This wasn’t a 6 year old scraped knee, this wasn’t a foolish adolescent hunting mistake that ended with several dental floss stitches, this wasn’t even selling his own soul to bring the beautiful young man in his twenties back to life.

This was just too much, too much for him and too much for Sam. All Dean could think, despite his previous reservations, was _Heaven help us_.

Dean was laid next to Sam on the disgusting mattress that really wasn’t much more than fabric on springs. He ran a hand that tried to be soothing up and down Sam’s taught back. Sam was face down on the mattress, screaming and clutching his hands and teeth in agony. The pain was relentless and it grew worse and worse with every hour.

“Dean,” Sam’s voice was hoarse and choked and barely a whisper, but Dean could hear him. Dean always heard Sam, even when there weren’t words. His breath met Sam’s breath as Sam turned his face toward his brother.

“I just can’t, Dean. Please.” Sam’s eyes were tortured and begging and Dean didn’t even try to stop the tears that flooded his own.

They’d plunged into Death’s abyss so many times and been thrown (or pulled) back out. Dean wasn’t sure that being aware of the end this time made it easier or harder. He wasn’t sure if the fact that it was his own hand pulling the custom made gun off of the floor beside the bed, despite his tear choked mouth calling out desperately, “No, Sammy, no,” made it better or worse.

Dean sat up on the mattress and cradled Sam’s face with his left hand, running his calloused thumb along the bridge of his brother’s nose and across that mole that even after all these years, still caught his attention.

“I couldn’t protect you this time, Sammy. I tried, I really did.” Dean let a smirk shine on his face that Sam hadn’t seen in years. Despite the grueling torment that Sam was becoming more and more incapable of blocking out, his eyes softened a little through the pain and he smiled, pulling his hand up to rest on the one Dean held to his face.

“Hey, at least we know what’s waiting on the other end, right? Been there, done that, more than once.” Never taking their eyes off each other, Dean brought the pistol to Sam’s head and did the only thing he could do, ended it once and for all. He leaned down to Sam’s bloody jaw line and rested his lips there before putting the gun to his own head and pulling the trigger one last time.

If Dean couldn’t save Sam’s soul, maybe God would.  
_______________  
 _Bobby had found them that way, Dean’s body propelled halfway off the mattress and Sam laying the way he had been when Dean had (hopefully) put him out of his misery. He wiped the tears away so he could make himself useful. He poured salt over his boys and then dowsed the whole cabin in gasoline._

His hand shook as he stood in front of the old tattered curtains that were hanging in front of the boarded up window, holding a zippo that he had found lying next to Dean’s duffel bag. Lighting the curtains on fire, he made his way outside and climbed into the driver’s seat of the Impala, where the keys were already in the ignition.

He muttered, “You damn idjits,” in a mournful sob as he watched the cabin come alight. 


End file.
